I dug
and dug
night and day
on your grave
and rebuilt you.
I raised your breasts for the dust,
the mouth I adored from its ashes,
reconstructed
your arms and your legs and your eyes,
your hair of twisted metal
and I gave you life…
And that, my love, is just the way
they rebuilt Warsaw…
Now you can understand how
love built the avenues,
made the moon sing in the gardens.
—Pablo Neruda
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